Wisdom Marauding
by cityofbones1234
Summary: Set in AU where someone else dies in the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione decides to go back in time and kill Voldemort before he comes back, so she goes all the way back and meets the Marauders. Recovering from her grief, she helps them along their adventures (Also I might not put Pettigrew in because I hate him). Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story was intended to turn out a lot less dark than it did. To be fair, I didn't really plan it. This was partly inspired by some other fanfiction I found wandering around this site and is in no way intended to breach copyright or other claims. I do not own any of these characters. I would be a lot happier if I did. ALSO. PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE THIS. TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF HARM. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE THIS WARNING. Alright, that's all. Enjoy…**

I stare dry-eyed at the shapes on the ground in front of me. They aren't making any sense. They can't be real. Fred, cold and lifeless. Tonks, frozen in time. Lupin, next to her. And the worst. I refuse to recognize it. It can't be true. No…

I don't remember falling, but suddenly someone's arms are around my shoulders and I'm being cradled gently. Tears fall from my eyes, but I refuse to close them. What if I blink, and it's still there, and he's still…

"Hermione," comes a voice into my ringing ears. "Hermione, I know. I know." Why is Harry saying that? It's not true, it's not true…

"It's true, Hermione… I… I'm sorry." It's Harry who has his arms around me, and he's crying. Tears catch on the inside of his glasses, blurring them. Without thinking, I wave my wand, still clutched in my hand, and the lenses are clear again. Harry closes his eyes. "Hermione, it's okay. It's going to be okay."

Mrs. Weasley and Ginny are crying now. They're bending over the bodies of two of their family. Fred, and… and…

Ron. RON. No… it's not true, I refuse to accept that. It's not logical. It's not true. It's a boggart, it's a trick, he's pretending, I…

Ron is dead.

I pull myself into a sitting position and wrap my arms around my knees, trying desperately to hold myself together. My heart is broken, it's not working, it's on fire. Something's wrong. The world is dark. Harry stands up awkwardly, probably trying to leave me to myself. Maybe that's what I need. Is that what I need? Do I really need anything but him? My face is cold from the wind blowing through broken windows. One single tear drips off of my chin onto my shirt. My shirt that smells like Ron, like the first time he kissed me, like the way things should be.

Everything's wrong. People are watching me. I need to leave. I need something else. I slowly rise to my feet, ignoring people's outstretched hands. Mrs. Weasley looks up, red-eyed and sniffling, and I can't bear it. George is here now, and he looks up too, and even though he just lost his lifelong companion, he looks at me with pity. That's not what I need. That's not what I need, I just…

I turn and walk calmly out of the Hall, past rows of people on cots or with makeshift bandages, past Neville with the Sword of Gryffindor, past all of these people who are just too living and too… real.

I start to walk faster, my legs jarring with every step stretched just too far, far enough to make it real. To make me feel. I need to feel. I turn randomly, avoiding rubble and students and parents and people, really, climbing any staircase that presents itself to me, until I find myself outside the Gryffindor common room, but the door is open; apparently, nobody is really worried about security or keeping the houses separate today, not when Voldemort is dead.

Voldemort is dead. Harry did it. But others died, too many others. I can't deal with the darkness. I can't handle the pain in my heart. I need something else to focus on.

Gasping, my thighs burning, I take the steps two at a time to the highest tower. This is where Dumbledore fell. I don't need to fall, I just need to feel. I still have my wand. Sitting down, a sob escaping from my painful, closing throat, I put the tip to my wrist and let the pain bring me back.

**A/N: I told you it was dark. Well, anyway,, sorry about that. I promise (I swear on all of the libraries in the world) that the next chapters will be muh less dark. Promise. Okay? Okay. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This chapter is much less dark than the previous one. Slight trigger warning for self harm, but no explicit mention of it. A special thank you to Codename-Valkyrie and LeCustard for reviewing! Enjoy!**

I stay at the top of the tower for longer than I know. My face and extremities go numb with the wind nipping at them incessantly. I cradle my left wrist in my right hand, distracted by the hot pain of the mark I made earlier. Though I could fix it easily, I prefer this pain to the other kind that lurks just beyond, darkening the shadows cast by an early morning sun. Nobody comes to find me for a long, long while, until footsteps echo in the chamber below the platform.

It's shuffling steps, which could honestly be anyone because all of us are so exhausted from a sleepless night. The sound makes the floor beneath me vibrate. Whoever it is reaches the top of the stairs and stops, clearing their throat. The sound is to high to be Harry or … or someone else, and too polite to be a lot of people. I don't turn around. I don't care about anything.

The steps resume and approach me where I sit facing the opening which gives a view of the lake. Luna Lovegood deposits herself lightly on the cold floor next to me and gazes out over the landscape, which I suppose is pretty, streaked by pink and light blue reflections on glassy water. It oughtn't to be this calm. Nothing is right in the world, so how can it keep turning?

Luna doesn't say anything. It occurs to me that she's the only person who wouldn't try to express unwanted sympathy or pity, and that she's exactly what I need right now. All she does is conjure up some blue flames with a muttered charm, and immediately prickling feeling returns to my frozen toes. I shift myself a bit closer to the fire.

"It's pretty cold up here," Luna comments offhandedly. A small sigh escapes my nose. There's nobody like Luna to state the obvious. "Yeah, it is." Ugh, my voice sounds all tight and my throat hurts from holding in tears for so long. Leaving my left arm in my lap, I raise my right hand and rub my eyes. I can tell I look like shit.

"You should do something about it," Luna says, more seriously. "Just… you'll think of something."

"There's nothing I can fucking do, Luna," I shriek, clambering stiffly to my feet, no longer cold. "It's done, it's over with, and I'm not going to use the Resurrection Stone, or some Dark Magic, or whatever, because it won't bring him back, it can't bring him back…" My voice slowly trails off into sobs, breaking up, and I can't get any words out to explain what's wrong with the world, but Luna knows. Luna understands. She rises smoothly to her feet as I cover my face and gasp and sob and choke on my own grief, and she puts her arms around me and holds me. We're both bloody, but it doesn't matter, because Luna knows me. Drawing away, I catch myself, taking a deep, shuddering breath to control myself. My wrist starts to sting again. Luna quietly heads back down the staircase, and in a little bit her footsteps are inaudible.

After a while of wondering how long I've been standing up here, I slowly make my way down the long flights of stairs, seeing the occasional person along the way, but nobody talks to me. I recognize some Slytherins when I pass the Great Hall. Considering the risk of them ending up fighting their parents, it's probably for the best that Professor McGonagall sent them to the dungeons before all the fighting broke out. If I were in their place, I wouldn't want to be forced to fight against my parents. Then again, my parents don't remember that I ever existed. The old ache fills my heart. There are parents in the Hall. Malfoy's there, with his mother. Lucius must be somewhere else. When I meet his eyes, Draco looks away, pressing his lips together. Maybe the turncoat bastard appreciates that we saved his fucking life and then lost one of ours.

I wander out to one of the half-destroyed corridors that open to the outdoors. Warmth is too good for me while he's gone. I don't deserve it.

My mind travels to what Luna said about doing something about it. Oh, if I could, would I hesitate for a minute? Aside from Harry, there's nobody who really matters to me here, whom I would miss too much to leave. Even Harry would understand, if there were a way…

The library! Since it's so far inside the school, I bet it's mostly undamaged. If ever there were a way, it would be there, and nobody's patrolling the Restricted Section at this time anyway.

My legs, which feel like bricks attached to me at the hips by now, somehow carry me up the steps two at a time and racing down the hallways to the library, the sanctuary of knowledge. Nobody stops me, though I do get some odd looks. It might be because I've got scratches everywhere and my hair is knotted and covered in dust. I don't know. Does it matter?

The smell of books overwhelms me, and I feel ashamed for enjoying it. I ought to know better than to enjoy something when he's dead. Denying myself seems to be the only way to make it up to him. Maybe that's why I should leave, if I can. But who ever heard of that kind of time travel?

The spines of the books in the restricted section are ripped and dusty from neglect. "Lumos," I whisper, holding my wand up to see the titles more clearly. Books on potions, books telling of darker magics, books on dragons, books about… wait, what was that one? What did it say? Backtracking quickly, I read, "Instances of Long-Distance Tyme Travelle and Rumours of Methodes Used." Merlin's beard, that was lucky. I gently pry the book free from its neighbors and open it, bracing it against my body. The pages crinkle loudly when they're exposed to clean air, as clean as it can be called in this dusty mess. You'd think someone might take better care of these books. I mean, they are books, after all.

Sitting down at one of the deserted tables in the main section of the library, I flip to the first page and begin to read…

**A/N: See? Much less dark. The plot is moving, sort of. It will get faster, promise. I hope you enjoyed! Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter mostly just moves things along in preparation for the major plot events to come. No copyright infringement intended. Enjoy!**

As my eyes scan the pages, my heart grows lighter against my better judgement. What if I could really do it? There's one method mentioned in chapter eleven that is rumored to have worked for a wizard in 1743. He traveled back from then to a 1609 and kept a journal, which was found after his death. Nobody knew if it was true or not, though, because all records of him had disappeared from the time in which he originally existed. But, if the journal tells a true story, then I could do it, I could really save him… and save Harry's parents, and all of the other people who died and didn't have to. Just one life, in exchange for hundreds, and I wouldn't die, I would just… leave.

Officially, I am not really considering doing this, but deep in my mind I know the choice has already been made.

I jump, jerking my head out of the book, as someone puts a hand on my shoulder. It's Harry, not looking too great. There's dirt and grime streaked all down his face, and blood staining his clothes. He's holding his wand, his real wand. I close my book hurriedly, leaving one finger in it to mark my spot. "You fixed it," I say, clearing my throat and gesturing vaguely to his wand. "And the Elder Wand?"

"I'm not keeping it," he says, looking defensively at me. I didn't really expect anything different. He's never been the type to go for that much power, especially given its history. "Well, I'm not using it, anyway."

"So you're hoping that you'll die without being murdered, and then the wand will lose its power?" He nods. "That's… that's a good plan, Harry." I doubt that anyone would be able to get close enough to kill him, given the Order and all of the people who were fighting Voldemort alongside us.

"What are you reading?" he asks, reaching for my book. I clutch it tighter and hold it to my chest so he can't see the title. "Hermione…"

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't… you would stop me."

He looks bewildered and slightly anxious. "Stop you from what? From reading?"

No, I can't tell him. He wouldn't let me go because he wouldn't understand why I'm considering going back in time and leaving everything behind. Neither of us has parents, really, though I remember mine better. I was the one who made them forget me. But Harry has the Weasleys, and Ginny, and they love him more than anyone could love me. And I had Ron, but now I only really have Harry, and he would forget me. Like with my parents, I would only be causing myself pain by leaving.

"Never mind. Listen, Harry, do you know where McGonagall is?"

He frowns. "Yeah, I think she's in her office, organizing things. Flitwick's in there with her. But why - "

"I'm fine. I just need to talk to her, alright? That's all." I push my chair back from the table and leave the Restricted Section, making my way down flights of cracked stairs and through banged-up hallways to McGonagall's room, the Transfiguration classroom. Peering through the doorway, I saw her slumped at her desk, staring at a stack of papers, her head resting in her hands.

I knocked gently on the door frame. Wearily, Professor McGonagall raised her head from her hands and blinked. "Hermione Granger. Do come in." She stood up and made her way around her desk, leaning on it with one hand. "How are you doing?"

"I… Professor, I wanted to ask you something."

"Go right ahead, then, dear," McGonagall says kindly.

"Is it possible to time travel?"

She seems taken aback. "Well, of course it is, as you well know, Miss Granger. You used the Tiime Turner yourself, to take more classes - "

"I mean farther back. Like, years, or decades…"

"Miss Granger, even if it were possible, what reason could you possibly have for wanting to do such a thing? And who would give themselves up for that?" She looks at me, frowning. "Hermione…"

"Professor, look. Here." I hold the book out to here, opening it to the place I marked earlier. "There's evidence right here that someone did it. And all I need is to know if you think it's possible or not." I hold her gaze. "I said nothing about actually doing it."

She sighs and looks intently at the pages, tipping her glasses up on her nose to read through them. After a few minutes she looks up. "Miss Granger…"

"Is is possible or not?" I ask quietly.

"I don't know. I think it is possible that this wizard did manage to transport himself through time, but… I urge you not to do this, please - "

"Thank you, Professor, for everything," I say, closing the book again and nodding to her before leaving the classroom. Tears prick my eyelids. I may never see this woman again, and she may forget me forever…

There's one more person I'm going to have to talk to in order to go about doing this.

Arthur Weasley.

**A/N: So, that was better, wasn't it? I promise that in the next few chapters we will be doing some stuff and meeting some new people. Thanks for reading!**


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